


One by One

by draiochtaa



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Aftercare, Barebacking, Blow Jobs, Collars, Consensual Sex, Cuckolding, Dom Dean Winchester, Dom/sub, Edging, Exhibitionism, Gangbang, Group Sex, Hair-pulling, M/M, Married Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester, Multi, Sex Slave Sam Winchester, Sexual Slavery, Sub Sam Winchester, Top Dean Winchester/Bottom Sam Winchester, Unrelated Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester, Unsafe Sex, minor pet play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-11
Updated: 2020-03-11
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:35:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23104840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/draiochtaa/pseuds/draiochtaa
Summary: Dean’s got a small group of friends over. Sam’s job is to satisfy all of them, one by one.The “friends” are described very vaguely; they’ve been intentionally left ambiguous, so you can pretty much imagine whoever you want.
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester, Sam Winchester/Original Male Character(s)
Comments: 7
Kudos: 90





	One by One

**Author's Note:**

> Just a quick disclaimer: this is tagged as “sexual slavery,” but it’s 100% consensual. Sam is a normal person on most days, but he has a bit of a kinkier side that he occasionally likes to play around with. The tags are there not because Sam is an actual sex slave, but because he is willingly being treated like one (I’m not a fan of non-con). Also, Sam and Dean are not brothers in this universe. Just husbands. And for the sake of convenience, STDs don’t exist here. 
> 
> The men described in this story are not based on anyone in particular, so you can imagine anyone you’d like. Literally. Feel free to blatantly ignore the descriptions if they don’t fit your fantasy.

Five. That’s how many men are currently lounging in their living room, waiting for the main event to start. It’s a new record; normally there are only four. Sam had asked if they could raise the stakes a bit, and Dean figured there was no harm in that, so he’d invited an extra person for tonight’s session. 

“Where is he?” one of them asked. 

“Upstairs,” Dean replied. “Getting ready. I’ll go up and get him in a minute.” 

He had to explain the rules first. They’re always the same. 

_Everyone gets one round, and one round only. No excessive marks or permanent damage. No touching unless it’s your turn. Clothes stay on._

That last one is Dean’s favorite. The goal of these little sessions is to make Sam feel exposed and vulnerable, and nothing does that quite like being the only one in the room that’s completely naked. 

He went over some of the other details as well, such as what Sam’s safeword is and where he likes to be touched. Once the men were out of questions, he headed upstairs to get his pet. 

* 

Sam is more or less gone by the time the door opens; he’s lost in subspace and eager to get started. All rational thoughts have left his mind as he kneels obediently on their bedroom floor with his hands clasped behind his back. He’s clothed, but loosely. He’s wearing his red flannel with nothing underneath, unbuttoned slightly at the top, and a pair of loose-fitting jeans that should be easy enough to remove. Under his jeans, he’s wearing his good underwear. And underneath that, there’s a discreet black plug buried snugly in his ass. His head snaps up when he hears the click of the doorknob, and Dean comes in to kneel in front of him. 

“They chose the pink one for you today,” he says with a grin, and Sam feels a rush of heat at the words. Sam loves the pink one. 

In Dean’s hands is a standard dog’s collar, pastel pink with a heart-shaped tag that reads “BITCH” in capital letters. Alongside the tag, there’s a little pink bell that jingles with every movement. 

Sam has three collars. They’re all actual dog collars, because he doesn’t like the people-friendly ones; they’re more expensive, and they make him feel less like a pet somehow. 

Dean always lets their guests pick which one he wears. There’s the pink one, of course, as well as a red one (on which the circular tag simply reads “SAM”) and a simple black leather one that has no tags at all. Their different guests tend to have varying tastes, sometimes wanting something a little more subtle. Most of them choose the pink one, however, because the pink one has a bell. 

Sam lifts his chin to allow Dean to snap the buckle in place around his neck. There’s a _click_ , and then Dean kisses him briefly on the lips to officially start their scene. 

“Ready?” he mutters. Sam nods. 

Dean pulls him to his feet and guides him down the stairs. They reach the living room, and Sam takes a second to count the men in the room. Five. And there are no familiar faces tonight. He struggles to repress a smile as excitement fills him. 

Sam does not meet with the guests beforehand. They see _him_ , in pictures, but that’s it. Sam has no idea what he’s facing until they’re all gathered in front of him. He likes it that way. 

Three of the men are sitting on the couch. One is sitting on the arm of the couch, and the fifth is lounging in a nearby armchair. They had all been talking softly as they waited. The second they see Sam, it goes dead silent as five unfamiliar sets of eyes lock onto him. 

Dean guides him to stand in the center of the room, the bell on his collar jingling faintly. He immediately clasps his hands together behind his back, feet shoulder-width apart; his default “attention” position. He stands tall and trains his eyes on the wall. It’s quiet for a moment. 

“He’s gorgeous,” someone speaks up. 

“Damn right,” Dean replies from somewhere behind him. “And he’s _very_ well-trained.” Sam remains still, inwardly basking in the praise. 

He feels Dean then, right behind him, pressing up against his back. He knows better than to move, though. A pair of arms wrap around his middle. 

“He’s a rock,” Dean says. “He’ll stand right there and let me do anything I want.” To prove his point, Dean unbuttons Sam’s jeans and shoves a hand inside them, massaging Sam’s length through his underwear. Sam swallows as he starts to harden, a blush creeping up his cheeks, but he keeps his eyes glued to the wall and remains still. 

It doesn’t take very long before he’s hard and leaking, and Dean’s hand worms its way inside his underwear to start stroking him properly. He has to bite his lip. 

“Don’t we get to see?” someone mutters. 

“Of course,” Dean confirms. That’s all the warning Sam gets before his pants (and underwear) are yanked down to his mid-thighs. In a way, it makes him feel even _more_ exposed than he would if he was entirely naked. He gets a whistle from one of the men as his cock bobs freely between his legs. 

He still doesn’t move. He can’t. He’s not allowed to. 

Dean comes back with both hands now, stroking him a few more times before pulling his foreskin back to focus on the tip. He knows all the right places to touch to get Sam worked up, and before long it becomes incredibly difficult for him to keep still. But he does. He always does. 

It feels incredible, and all the extra eyes on him somehow make it feel even better. He lets out a breath when Dean reaches down to cup his balls firmly. He’s stroking him again, hard and fast, twisting his hand just a little on the way up. There’s a slick sound, and it’s incredibly loud in the quiet room. Sam knows he’s blushing furiously. 

“He still hasn’t moved a muscle,” someone whispers incredulously to someone else. 

This goes on for a long while, and Sam feels himself approaching an orgasm. He knows that’s not allowed, however, and he’s a little surprised that Dean isn’t even slowing down. He lets out a grunt. 

Dean keeps going. He’s getting closer and closer at an alarming speed. 

And then it’s gone. Dean takes both hands away and backs off completely. Sam fights back a whine, his cock red and throbbing as his release fades back out of reach. He swallows hard, trying to catch his breath. 

“Good boy, Sam,” Dean praises him. 

“He’s _huge_ ,” one man comments. A couple of others voice their agreement. 

“Yes he is,” Dean gloats. “But that’s not what we’re here for, is it?” 

It’s time. 

“Come here, Sam.” 

Dean is standing next to the table against the wall, waiting expectantly. Sam shuffles over, his jeans hugging his thighs awkwardly. The bell on his collar jingles again. 

“Take those off,” Dean says, gesturing to his pants. Sam does, leaving them carelessly on the floor. Then, “Bend over.” 

He leans forward to lay his upper body on the table, their audience directly behind him. This particular table is the perfect height; that’s not an accident. They’d bought it for this exact purpose. 

He rests his head in his arms, his collar clinking loudly against the hard surface, and Dean kicks his feet apart. He hears some shuffling on the couch, and he guesses that the men are trying to get a better look at his ass. Especially because the plug is surely visible now. 

Dean uses both hands to spread his cheeks a bit more before tapping roughly on the plug a few times. It jostles, hitting his prostate, and Sam groans. Then Dean pulls it out relatively quickly and grabs the bottle of lube that had been resting on the table next to his other two collars. 

Sam is already stretched (thus the plug), so when Dean fingers him it’s entirely for show. The noise it makes is embarrassingly loud (Dean always likes to use extra lube for this exact reason), and Sam is unbelievably turned on by the humiliation of it. 

Dean changes the angle a bit so that his fingers are continuously jabbing at Sam’s prostate. Sam is breathing hard, one of his knees bending reflexively so that his foot leaves the floor for a moment. 

“Look how well he takes it,” Dean points out to their audience, speaking as if Sam can’t hear him. 

“He’s such a good little bitch,” someone agrees. 

This time, Dean gives him a bit more of a warning before pulling away, actually slowing down first and everything. Then he grabs a washcloth from the table and wipes his fingers on it. Sam stays put and waits for the other shoe to drop. 

There’s a firm hand in his hair, and then Dean is pulling him back up into a standing position. 

“Shirt off,” he orders. It sounds cold. That means things are about to get good. He opts to unbutton his shirt rather than simply pulling it over his head, making a show of it. It joins the rest of his clothes on the floor, and he’s left completely naked in this room full of strangers. 

Dean turns him around to face the crowd of men, watching him intently for a long while. This gives him a chance to come back down from the edge before they really get started. He takes a minute to breathe, finally looking up at Dean once he’s decided he’s ready. He’s met with startling green eyes that hold a very familiar look of warning. 

He knows the rule; he’s not allowed to cum until everyone in the room is done with him. 

Once Dean is sure that Sam is ready, he gets that hand back in Sam’s hair and uses it to manhandle him back to the center of the room. 

“Who wants to go first?” 

The men look at each other for a moment. Three of them start to get up, and then they all sit down at the same time. Dean’s fist is tight in Sam’s hair, and he focuses on the sting while they make up their minds, staying obediently still. 

The winner of the silent battle is a thin, gentle-looking man who’s wearing a pair of glasses; he’d been the one sitting in the armchair. He’s well-dressed, just like everyone else in the room, and Sam is shoved toward him. 

He stays in his attention position as he waits for further instructions. The man looks at him pensively for a second and reaches out to trace Sam's jawline with his middle finger. 

“You can either tell him what to do or just move him yourself,” Dean says from somewhere behind them. “He looks big and strong, but he’ll let you.” 

That seems to spark some interest in the man, and he tests the statement by placing a hand on Sam’s shoulder and pushing down gently. Sam gets the hint and gracefully drops to his knees. The man watches him intently, undoing his belt to get his dick out. 

Sam opens his mouth obediently, and the man shoves himself down Sam’s throat. He doesn’t waste much time before he’s grabbing Sam’s hair to keep his head in place as he starts lazily thrusting. Sam closes his eyes and relaxes his throat, humming occasionally. His hands stay behind his back. 

“Look at me,” the man growls. Sam does. He tries to keep his eyes wide and innocent-looking; most people tend to like that. 

After a few minutes of this, the man pulls Sam backward by his hair, holding him at a distance. The dick pops out of his mouth, and the man glances around the room for a minute. 

“Where should we—?” he asks Dean. 

“Wherever you want,” is Dean’s response. Sam looks back to see him sitting on the other arm of the couch, watching the show along with everyone else. He winks at Sam, and Sam grins. The grip in his hair tightens, pulling him back around, and he redirects his attention back to the man he’s servicing. 

“Just the floor, then, I guess,” the man mumbles to himself. “Lay down,” he says to Sam, louder this time. 

It’s not very specific, so Sam just lies down where he is, settling onto his back on the floor. The man is on top of him almost in the same instant, the scratch of his clothes on Sam’s bare skin reminding him of how exposed he is. He spreads his legs a bit to let the man settle between them. 

The man grabs one of Sam’s legs and pulls it as far up as it will comfortably go. His dick slides right in, Sam’s saliva and all that extra lube easing the way. 

Sam’s not sure what to do with his hands, because he isn’t allowed to touch anything unless he’s been given explicit permission, so they stay awkwardly at his sides. He doesn’t dwell on it, because then the man is rolling his hips in preparation for his first real thrust. 

He sets a decent pace; it isn’t slow, but it’s not fast or rough either. Sam enjoys the steady pressure, and he lets out a small breath to show it. 

Sam can’t help but think that this is a great start to the evening; it’s nothing too crazy, just a good solid introduction to ease him into it. Not everyone is this gentle, which isn’t necessarily a bad thing, but it can be a lot to handle sometimes. 

If he’s being honest, Sam isn’t quite paying attention; not that it doesn’t feel wonderful, but if he’s going to be doing this for the next couple hours, then he’ll have to pace himself. There’s no use getting too excited this soon. He’s polite, though, so he lets out a couple of appreciative noises whenever it’s necessary. 

The man speeds up as he gets closer to his release, and Sam’s collar jingles with the movement. He grabs a fistful of Sam’s hair and yanks his head back to expose his neck. This gives Sam an upside-down view of the rest of the people in the room, whom he’d almost forgotten about. He locks eyes with one of them; one with dark hair and eyes to match, watching him with a certain fondness that makes him shiver. He moans as the man fucking him finally finds his prostate. 

He doesn’t last much longer, his grip tightening almost painfully as his hips stutter and he exhales sharply. Sam bites his lip at the familiar sensation of being filled, not fighting the man’s strong hold on him. As the man is catching his breath, Dean speaks up. 

“What do you say, Sammy?” 

“Thank you, Sir,” Sam says instantly, a bit disappointed in himself for forgetting. The man grins into his neck. 

“You’re welcome, darlin’,” he mutters back. He pulls out, tucking himself back into his pants, and eases Sam’s leg back down so that he can get up off of the floor. 

“Up on your knees, Sam,” Dean orders. “Face this way.” 

The man is back in the armchair by the time Sam gets into the desired position. He keeps his back straight, his hands clasped behind himself and his eyes scanning over the remaining men on the couch. 

“Next,” Dean says cheerily, also turning to look at everyone. Sam expects the man he’d made eye contact with to speak up, but he doesn’t. Instead, it’s the one right next to Dean. 

“Come ride me,” he says. Sam briefly glances at Dean to make sure that’s alright, and Dean gives him a curt nod. 

The man is unzipping his pants to get his dick out, but he isn’t moving from his spot, which must mean that Sam’s going to be joining everyone else on the couch. He feels himself blushing, but he stands up and heads over before he can get reprimanded for moving too slowly. 

“No touching,” Dean reminds everyone as Sam straddles the man, ignoring his own rule and combing a gentle hand through Sam’s hair (Dean’s _always_ allowed to touch, of course). 

The man helps Sam sink down onto his dick. He goes slowly, allowing himself to take a second to adjust once he’s fully seated. The dark-eyed man is seated immediately to his left, and they make eye contact again for a fleeting moment.

“Go on, sweetheart,” the man under him prods, digging both hands into his thighs. Sam obeys, rolling his hips for a moment to get situated before wrapping his arms loosely around the man’s neck and lifting himself up. 

Their faces are incredibly close, and the man is watching him attentively. Dean’s fingers are still combing through his hair, and he focuses on that feeling as he sets a moderate pace. His collar jingles as he bounces, and the man is clearly enjoying himself. There’s quite a bit of heavy breathing from both of them. 

Sam’s not an expert at this, but he’s not terrible either; he has a decent amount of strength in his legs, which allows him to maintain a fairly quick rhythm that has the man’s eyes rolling back in his head before long. 

The man grabs Sam’s waist roughly, his nails digging in slightly as he loses control and starts thrusting into the sensation. Before long, he’s cumming with a grunt. He throws his head back, and Sam rolls his hips to work him through it. 

“Thank you, Sir,” he mumbles. The man grins weakly. 

They stay there for a few long minutes. Sam usually feels obligated to stay for a little bit afterward, as he himself enjoys basking in the afterglow for at least a moment. Dean allows them to have that moment. When he finally interrupts, it’s with a gentle “okay” and a pat on Sam’s back. Then Sam snaps back to attention, raising up on his knees to allow the man to tuck himself back into his pants. 

Dean’s hand leaves his hair and he’s being told to get back on the floor. He obeys wordlessly. 

He settles back onto his knees with his hands behind his back, and Dean invites the next person to join him. Sam looks again at the dark-eyed man; he looks back with a gentle smile, but he still doesn’t move. He seems to be waiting for the right time. Maybe he wants to go last. 

The man sitting on the opposite arm of the couch gets up. His skin is a rich dark brown, and he looks big and strong. He drops to his knees in front of Sam with a mischievous grin on his face. 

“Hands and knees,” he purrs. Sam starts to turn around, but the man grabs his hair and pulls him into the position he wants, which happens to leave him staring directly at Dean. Dean only grins. 

The man maintains his grip in Sam’s hair as he disappears behind him. Sam’s not expecting to feel a tongue swiping over his hole, so he might have squeaked a little bit at the contact. 

“That feel good, baby?” Dean chuckles. The man doubles his efforts, and Sam can only respond with a breathy moan. He feels himself blushing, and he has the ridiculous urge to hide his face but there’s a strong hand in his hair that’s preventing him from doing so. He arches his back and spreads his knees, welcoming the sensation. 

The man takes several long minutes to torture Sam with his tongue, leaving him shaking by the time he’s done. He finishes with a quick kiss to Sam’s lower back, and then the hand is gone from his hair as he hears the familiar sound of a belt being undone. He stays exactly where the man left him, determined to show off how good he is at keeping his composure. 

This man is the largest he’s had so far today, so it takes more than a few minutes for him to push all the way in. He’s considerate, at least, leaving time for Sam to adjust. Sam pushes back when he’s ready, and the man rolls his hips so sensually that Sam’s mouth falls open in pleasure. He’s already hitting all the right spots, and Sam knows he’s in for a very good time. 

The man grabs onto Sam’s hair again, using this grip to pull him back into every thrust. Soon, the otherwise silent room is filled with the sound of skin slapping, low moans, and the jingling of Sam’s collar. This innocent jingling somehow sounds the most obscene, and it’s almost enough to drive Sam crazy. He can barely catch his breath. 

Sam isn’t sure how long it lasted. Toward the end, the man stops holding Sam’s head up and instead shoves his face into the floor. This helps with the angle, and Sam is practically whining. He’s clawing at the carpet to keep his hands occupied, because he’s a little worried that he’s about to do something stupid like try to reach for the man’s arm. But that’s not allowed. He does lift a hand once, subconsciously, and Dean warns him with a loud “ _No_ , Sam,” from across the room. He drops it immediately. 

When the torment finally stutters and slows to a stop, Sam’s equal parts relieved and disappointed. It had been fantastic, but he wasn’t really able to fully enjoy it because he’d been focused on staying in position and not cumming. 

“Thank you, Sir,” he says. His voice sounds thoroughly wrecked, even to himself. 

The man pulls out and pets Sam’s hair gently as an apology for the rough treatment. He kisses the back of Sam’s neck and retreats back to the couch as he’s zipping up his pants. He doesn’t say another word. 

Sam stays on the floor where he’d been left, his ass in the air and his face in the carpet. He’s still trying to catch his breath. 

Rather than telling Sam what to do next, Dean gets up and comes over to him, grabbing him by the hair again and pulling his head back up. Sam enjoys the sting, but it’s getting to be a bit much, and he’s a little more compliant than usual in order to lessen the pain. Dean must notice, because he loosens his grip subtly, but his tone gets harsher to make up for it. 

“Get up,” he orders. Sam really tries, but his legs don’t seem to work very well anymore, and he doesn’t get much farther than his knees. 

Dean feigns impatience, leaning down to look Sam in the eyes. 

“You’ve still got two more to go, Sam,” he points out. 

“Yes, Sir,” Sam replies shyly. 

“I don’t want to see you slacking.”

“No, Sir,” Sam splutters. 

“Then get _up_ ,” Dean growls. 

Sam tries harder this time, determined to follow the order. His legs tremble almost violently, every muscle seeming to disagree with the action, but he manages to rise shakily to his feet. He has to cling to Dean in order to do so, which normally wouldn’t be allowed, but Dean makes an exception this time. 

Sam’s still holding Dean’s arm rather tightly, but Dean ignores it and turns Sam around to face the couch again. 

“Who’s next?” he says. The dark-eyed man finally stands up. 

“I’ll take him,” he says, watching Sam with that same fondness he’d had before. 

Dean shoves Sam roughly in that direction. Sam nearly falls to the floor, but the man lunges forward and catches him. 

“Hey there, beautiful,” he chuckles. “Easy. Come here.” 

Sam forces himself to put his hands back behind his back. He’d been allowed to hold onto Dean for a brief moment to get his balance, but he wasn’t sure that he’d get the same lenience with the stranger. 

The man helps him over to the middle of the floor, guiding him back down onto his knees. He’s thankful for that. 

“Poor thing,” the man coos. “Gettin’ all manhandled all the time.” He’s incredibly gentle, caressing Sam as he nudges him to lay down on his stomach. Sam rests his head in his arms, enjoying the change of pace. He catches sight of Dean back on the couch; he’s grinning. 

The man is clearly a romantic, and he’s being very handsy. He straddles the backs of Sam’s thighs, undoing his belt slowly. He fingers Sam for a short moment, finding that he’s more than ready and pulling his fingers back out to line himself up. 

Sam closes his eyes and lets himself enjoy the feeling. The man is taking his time, moving very slowly and making sure to hit that spot that makes Sam squirm just a little. He holds himself completely still, however, expressing his pleasure with a breathy moan instead. 

The man lays down against Sam’s back, running his fingers through Sam’s hair. He works up to more of a moderate pace now, staying consistent for a very long time. It seems to go on forever; Sam’s not complaining, but he does find himself wondering exactly how long it’s been. The man has an impressive amount of stamina. 

When he finally shudders through his completion, he buries his face in the side of Sam’s neck and lets out a few heavy breaths. 

“Thank you, Sir,” Sam practically purrs, feeling very comfortable in their current position. 

“You’re welcome,” the man whispers into his ear, like it’s a secret. He stays where he is for a long while, kissing lightly at Sam’s neck as he recovers. 

The man gathers the strength to sit up, pulling out gently. He eases himself to his feet and goes back to the couch. 

Normally, they would start the final show now, but there’s an extra person here this time. Sam’s grateful for that; he’s exhausted, but he doesn’t want to be done just yet. 

“Come ride me,” the last man speaks up, pulling Sam out of his thoughts. He forces himself up onto his knees first before getting to his feet, a bit easier now that his legs have had time to rest. The last man has slipped off of the couch and is sitting on the floor in front of it, his legs out in front of him and his dick already out. He looks slightly older than the rest of the men, but he’s still attractive. 

Sam starts to straddle the man, but the man stops him. 

“Other way,” he says with a grin. 

So Sam turns around, facing away from the man as he reaches back to line himself up. 

Dean gets up as Sam starts to sink down, sitting cross-legged on the floor several feet in front of him. He’s not doing anything; just watching. Sam blushes. 

He has to take a moment to gather the strength to lift himself up, his legs still shaking a little. He tries leaning forward and cautiously resting his hands on the man’s thighs for better leverage, with an inquisitive look at Dean. Dean gives him a very subtle nod to let him know the touch is allowed, and Sam gets to work. This way, he can move with his back instead of his thighs. 

The man seems to be enjoying the visual, because he’s grabbing at Sam’s ass like he can’t control himself. Sam bites his lip, his dick bouncing obscenely as he moves up and down. 

Sam zones out for a while, operating on muscle memory as he loses track of time again. The man shoves him farther forward so that he’s nearly laying down, and Sam grins at how that must look from behind. 

It doesn’t take too long for the man to start meeting his hips on the way down, thrusting slowly but forcefully. It feels great, and Sam whines. He’s really getting into it now, and he can’t wait until he can finally release all of the tension that’s been building up inside him. But that won’t happen until later. 

Right when he starts thinking he might cum despite the rules, the man lets out a grunt as he releases into Sam’s ass. Sam starts rolling his hips politely, trying not to let his impatience show. 

“Thank you, Sir,” he says as an afterthought. He’d almost forgotten it this time. 

Sam wants nothing more than to relax his muscles, but he’s unbelievably tense as he waits for Dean to come get him. Dean doesn’t move for a very long time, however. 

When he finally stands up, Sam watches him so intently that he’s pretty sure he hasn’t blinked in a while. 

“That’s everyone?” he checks, even though he knows damn well that everyone’s had a turn. He’s stalling, because he knows how much Sam wants what’s coming next. 

Everyone nods anyway. Dean seems satisfied with that, and he ever-so-slowly starts to walk toward Sam where he’s still seated firmly in the man’s lap. 

There’s another long moment of silence before Dean reaches down and grabs Sam by the hair. 

“Up,” he says dismissively, and Sam scrambles to obey. He makes it to his feet without any help this time. Dean yanks him over to their table and shoves him down so he’s bending over it again. His collar clinks loudly as it hits the table. 

Sam spreads his feet apart without Dean having to position him this time, and then he stays absolutely still and waits as patiently as he possibly can. 

“You’ve been a _very_ good boy today, Sam,” Dean praises him, stroking his back lovingly. Sam doesn’t respond. He knows he’s not supposed to. 

Then Dean’s hand is sliding lower on his back, sliding over his ass and dipping a finger inside. It’s gone pretty quickly, and then there’s the sound of Dean undoing his belt. Sam holds his breath. 

“Anyone have any last requests?” 

“Make him scream,” someone says. Sam doesn’t bother trying to figure out who it was. He hears Dean chuckle behind him. 

“That’s the plan,” Dean replies, and then he starts pressing in. Sam tries to make himself as pliant as possible. 

The thing about Dean is that he _knows_ exactly how to manipulate Sam into doing what he wants. He also knows how to make a show out of it, which is exactly what he’s currently doing. 

He’s actually being fairly gentle, which their audience would never know because he’s so good at making things look much rougher than they are. He’s got a strong grip in Sam’s hair, strategically placed in such a way that Sam can’t actually feel it all that much, but it looks very convincing from a distance. His face is buried in the side of Sam’s neck, mouth open in such a way that makes it look like he’s using his teeth, but they’re just resting there as he laves his tongue over the skin and sucks gently. He does this because he knows that Sam’s starting to get tired of the rough treatment, and he’s providing a bit of reprieve. 

He can’t fake the movement of his hips, though. Not that Sam cares. Dean can coddle him all he wants, but Sam will always enjoy getting fucked within an inch of his life at the end of a night like this one. It’s probably his favorite part of the night, actually. 

He’s been fucked five times already, passed around for hours and used by _five_ different men, but none of those men had been the one that had placed that collar around his neck. None of _them_ will be getting into bed with him tonight. He belongs to Dean, and this is their way of showing it. 

As far as his hips go, Dean doesn’t hold back; he knows not to. They’ve talked about that before. He sets a relentless pace, one that he’s perfected over the many times they’ve done this. It’s fantastic, and Sam has trouble holding still. It’s better than anything else he’s felt today, simply because it’s _Dean_ behind him and not some stranger. 

Dean’s free hand is sliding its way down Sam’s side, and Sam knows what’s coming next. 

The first touch to his cock since they’d started their night is firm enough to make him groan. He’s been on edge for a long time, and it’s almost painful. Dean strokes him a few times before letting go completely. Sam knows better than to move or complain. 

Dean stands back up, his mouth leaving Sam’s shoulder. The spot feels cold in the absence of Dean’s tongue, and there’s a pleasant throb that indicates a potential hickey. Sam smiles. 

Dean’s rhythm never falters as he pulls Sam backward slightly until only his upper torso is on the table. They’d figured out a while ago that this makes his cock more visible to their audience because it’s not hidden against the table anymore. It makes it that much more thrilling when Dean reaches down to start stroking him in earnest. 

“I want you to show all these people how good you look when you cum for me,” Dean announces. 

“Yes, Sir,” Sam replies obediently, his voice raspy and high-pitched at the same time. He’s trembling. 

Dean doesn’t stop; he’s still relentless, and Sam feels a violent stinging behind his eyes that suggests he’s dangerously close to tears from the pleasure. He squeezes his eyes shut in an attempt to fight them back, and he grips the table so hard it hurts his hands a little. 

He can’t stay quiet when he finally falls over the edge, letting out a shout as his dick pulses through his release. Dean doesn’t stop what he’s doing, and Sam’s body can’t figure out whether he wants to get away from the stimulation or embrace it. He squirms, but Dean holds him firmly enough that he doesn’t actually get anywhere. 

“Good boy, Sammy,” Dean coos, squeezing his dick firmly to milk every last drop of cum out of him. Sam’s knees go weak, and he has to rely solely on the table in order to hold himself up. By the time it’s over, his whole body is tingling and he feels incredibly satisfied. Dean stops moving to let him catch his breath. 

Sam’s in a mood all of a sudden, all warm and fuzzy after the mindblowing orgasm he’s just had, and he decides he wants to show his gratitude somehow. He reaches behind himself and grabs one of Dean’s wrists. He tries to turn around and look at him. He’s not sure if he succeeds, but Dean gets the hint anyway and pulls out. Then Sam is sliding off the table and onto his knees in front of Dean. 

They do share a look then, and it’s clear that Dean knows exactly what’s going on. He grabs a fistful of Sam’s hair just to make it look like he’s still the one calling the shots, and then he lets the younger man have his way. 

Sam swallows Dean’s cock like he was born for it, not holding anything back. He feels a swell of pride when he hears Dean curse under his breath above him. He glances up through his hair as he works, his gaze fixed sedulously on Dean. 

Their bystanders are completely silent. They seem to know that they’re witnessing something especially intimate; that this isn’t something to interrupt. It goes on for a while before Dean’s face starts to fall, that commanding look in his eyes long gone. He lets out a grunt, and Sam swallows every drop that he’s given. 

*

It’s mostly a blur after that. Sam sits down on the floor with his eyes closed and his back against the table’s leg as Dean zips his pants back up and deals with everything else. He registers Dean petting the side of his head just behind his ear, and then there are many voices that he doesn’t listen to. There’s some shuffling and thudding as everyone packs up and leaves. He’s not sure how long he sat there dozing off, but when he opens his eyes again Dean is the only one in front of him. 

Neither of them says anything. It’s a comfortable silence. After an intense scene like this one had been, Sam doesn’t tend to feel like talking anymore (or listening, for that matter). He prefers the quiet; it’s easier that way for him to come down. 

Dean helps him up and gently removes his collar. It jingles again, and Sam frowns at the shrill sound. Dean holds the bell to keep it quiet as he goes to put it down on the table. 

They leave the room as it is, deciding they’ll tidy up later. They’d much rather be sleeping right now. 

Sam goes to the bathroom to clean himself up. He takes a brief shower, the roar of the running water snapping him out of his tranquility for the slightest moment. He lets it fade into the background and focuses on washing himself. 

He quickly dries off and enters their bedroom with nothing on but the towel, finding Dean waiting for him in the bed. He’s wearing a soft pair of sweatpants, and the sheets on Sam’s side of the bed are pulled down invitingly. 

Sam drops the towel, making a quick stop at his nightstand to slip his wedding band back onto his finger before joining Dean under the sheets. 

Dean curls up against his chest, a matching ring on his own finger, and Sam can already feel himself dozing off. He smiles.

**Author's Note:**

> Always use a condom, children. 
> 
> ~~I know they’re not supposed to be based on anybody, but I secretly imagined the dark-eyed man as Zachary Quinto and I have no idea why. Don’t tell anyone.~~
> 
> I have no idea where this came from. Normally, I’m a firm believer in Bottom!Dean. People change, I guess.


End file.
